


We're What's Left of Our Mistakes

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dispatching Dick Roman, Dean and Castiel end up in an unexpected place. The only choice they have is to rely on each other.</p>
<p>
  <em>"The sudden burst of adrenaline sent Dean’s head spinning. Without thinking, he turned—and ran. Hungry growls shot up all around him as he barreled into the darkness, inspired by the will of pure survival. Quick and hard, his feet pounded against the hard earth and he pushed his body to the point of breaking."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're What's Left of Our Mistakes

_“But instead, we become this. The only thing I think we have left, Dean and me, is **each other**.”_

_—Castiel, “The End” (production draft only)_

“Cas?”

Dark beasts skittered across the edge of his vision, red eyes murderous, hungry. Vengeful. Dean stood alone in the forest, surrounded by monsters he couldn’t see; hate-filled, evil things that he could only _hear_. The gnashing of teeth sent his skin crawling. The snarl of animals long-past starving froze him still. With the memories of Hell quick on his conscious, Dean felt his chest constrict with anxiety and his muscles rev with the _fight or flight_ impulse. The fact that Castiel had left him here—

“Sonofabitch.”

To his left, a darker shadow darted out of his peripheral. Dean turned to find a beast, much larger than its brothers, stepping closer. The soullessness of its eyes, the burning hatred in its growl—Dean shivered and took a reflexive step backward. It crept closer, hovering low to the ground. Deadly cunning and predatory. Dean couldn’t see the creature’s fangs and he didn’t need to. The beast chomped them in excitement, snapping its maw open and closed to taste him on the air. When it growled, the monster betrayed its intent. It was the moment before the attack; the tensing of muscles, the anticipation. Dean knew it well. Here, the hunter had become the hunted.

The monster let out a shrill snarl.

The sudden burst of adrenaline sent Dean’s head spinning. Without thinking, he turned— _and ran_. Hungry growls shot up all around him as he barreled into the darkness, inspired by the will of pure survival. Quick and hard, his feet pounded against the hard earth and he pushed his body to the point of breaking. His heart thundered in his chest, his breaths laborious. As a beast snarled at him, lunging with the snapping of teeth, Dean jumped over a felled tree with an effortlessness that left him surprised; a precision that came naturally when faced with the certainty of death. But it wasn’t enough. Another creature shot in front of him, claws aiming for his thigh. Dean turned to avoid it, hitting his shoulder against a tree. The force threw him off balance for half a second. Determined, Dean fought to right himself and sailed over a shallow creek. The immediate splash afterward told him that those things, those _monsters_ , were right behind him. Close. _Too close_.

Dean didn’t find hope in the small clearing up ahead. He broke through the forest line and planned to run to the other side, deeper into the darkness. He didn’t make it. The flash of tan and white in front of him made Dean flinch. He couldn’t stop his momentum in time and crashed into waiting arms. When his mind had caught up, had registered that this was _Cas_ , relief rushed over him in a wave that nearly crushed him. Cas reacted immediately, turning to shield him, to put himself in the line of danger. The fierce gesture sent Dean tumbling safely away, making him fall to the ground. The rich smell of damp earth, the wetness of the leaves accompanied the sounds of—

Dean twisted and looked over his shoulder. Cas moved quickly, dodging the snap of a beast while swinging his sword in a sweeping arc. The beast’s head fell away from its body, severed as if its neck had been made of butter. Two more monsters hit the ground, dead, before they had a chance to make a mark on the angel. The surety and fluidity of Cas’ movements, the command he wielded—Dean reminded himself he needed to breathe. His expertise, the way the sword seemed to be a simple extension of his arm. Cas had been created for this, to fight, to kill. He was a warrior; fierce and ruthless, something that Dean always seemed to forget. Now, faced with his prowess, Dean couldn’t help but marvel at the truth.

Cas swung the sword in a gracefully seamless, vertical arc, cutting into one of the beasts before spinning low, executing a wide and effortless horizontal sweep that sliced its throat open. The beast snarled, the sound ending in a gurgle of blood. With every slash and cut that Cas made, deft and agile, the sword trailed light, painting a blur of golden yellow. Dean couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the dance, the liquid grace, the power that Cas exuded. It was only until Cas turned with wide eyes that Dean remembered he was in danger at all.

“Dean!”

Dean turned in time to see a beast charge forward. Cas landed crouched, placing himself in front of the monster. Another precise cut sent the beast tumbling away, shrieking, choking on its last breath. Beasts hovered at the edge of the forest line, growling and hissing, agitated with hatred gleaming in their eyes. One by one, the monsters slinked away, disappearing into the deeper darkness. Howls in the distance told Dean that there were many more of them, hundreds even, just waiting for another chance. They wouldn’t be alone for long.

Slowly, Cas backed toward him, glowing sword dimming as the howls could be heard farther away. Dean heaved a breath, cautiously rising to his feet. He kept his eyes on the forest line, taking a second to glance Cas’ way. “Where the hell were you, Cas?”

“Scouting. I found this.” Cas spared a glance to it. “It appears to be a sword.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean said irritatedly.

Another howl. They froze in place.

“We’re not safe here,” Cas explained.

Without warning, Cas turned and wrapped his arms around him. The scenery changed right before Dean’s eyes. The darkness and despair of the forest faded away, replaced with a wall of rock covered in markings. Soft light made Dean’s eyes adjust and the warmth—wasn’t because of this… cave. Cas’ arms were still around him, tight, holding on. Dean felt the desperation in that embrace, a child-like quality to it that made him entertain it for a second. A second that became two, then four, eight, ten. Dean spared him tenderness that he couldn’t afford and the closeness made him uncomfortable. The urge to simply… escape grew. “Okay, Cas.”

Cas didn’t move quickly enough. Out of his own desperation, Dean jerked him out to arm’s length, backing up with a frown on his face. They locked eyes, the intensity there no different than it had been years ago. Dean looked away, clearing his throat. “Where are we?”

“A sanctuary of sorts, refuge for the few good souls that exist in Purgatory. Perhaps… a shred of hope, shelter from the storm.”

Dean traced a symbolic carving in the rock, inspecting while listening to Cas’ explanation.

“You should see them—“

Dean threw a glance over his shoulder. Cas’ expression, the dazed look in his eyes—he wasn’t truly here.

“—the storms in Central Africa.”

“Cas,” Dean snapped.

Cas blinked and centered his eyes on Dean. He said nothing.

Dean pointed to one of the runes. “These runes—“

“—are nothing that I've seen before. Protections, perhaps, from the evil that dwells here.”

“Okay,” Dean said with quiet agitation. “What about these “good souls”? Will they—“

“I don't know, Dean.”

Dean licked his lips, jaw clenching. “Well, that's just great. Aren't you full of helpful information.”

“Dean—“ A pause. “Have you ever—“

“Cas, I’ve had about enough of your crazy crap. You need to get your shit together and help me find a way out of here!”

Cas lowered his eyes immediately, fingers toying with his trench coat’s ties. Dean couldn’t do anything else but stare at him. What could he do? He felt completely lost. His best friend—a shell of what he once was. Dean shoved down the pain.

“They’re not here,” Cas whispered at length.

“What?”

“The bees, the insects—they’re not here either.”

“Cas!”

The angel jumped in his skin, cringing when Dean rushed him. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and Cas, once fierce and lethal, pressed himself into the wall. “I don’t want to fight,” Cas whispered and then, firmly, “I don’t want to fight.”

“Cas, look at me,” Dean said harshly. When he didn’t, Dean softened his tone. “ _Look_ at me.”

Cas lifted his eyes slowly.

“Pull yourself together, man. There’s no way I can do this alone,” Dean whispered. He swallowed hard. “I need your help.” Dean looked at him. The hurt he saw in those blue eyes, the way the softness of his tone eased the tension in Cas’ tight muscles—it said so much without saying anything at all. “You okay?”

Cas nodded.

“Good,” Dean said, turning to look around. “Now, let’s come up with a plan. I gotta get back to Sam.”

“Dean—“

The weight in Cas’ voice made his shoulders slump. “What is it, Cas?”

“I’m so sorry—“

“Goddamnit.”

“—so sorry. About everything.”

Dean whirled on him, subdued anger burning in his veins. “Here? Really? You want to do this _here_?” With a growl, Dean shot out, “No. I’m not doing this with you—“

“Please—“

“You know what, Cas? Sorry isn’t going to cut it!” Dean tried to keep it under control. “Help me get out of here!”

Cas fussed with his trench coat ties.

“Okay?” Dean said softer. “Just… help me get out of here.”

“Dean—“ he heard Cas whisper, barely audible.

“What do you want me to say, Cas? That I forgive you? That I’ve— _forgotten_ all the shit you’ve done? It’s not that easy!” Dean yelled, playing out his rage. The heartbroken expression on Cas’ face poured water on the fire of his anger. Calmer, Dean said, “Now’s not the time for this.”

It took a few seconds for Cas to gather his composure. “Is there hope, Dean? For _us_?”

Dean took a deep breath and watched him. He couldn’t tell Cas how all of it—the lying, the way he hurt Sammy—had nearly broken him. To lose his best friend, the only one he had ever truly connected with outside of family. Dean clenched his jaw and said, “We’ll build on hope.”

The roar of a monster—huge, too close for comfort—shook the small cave. Instinctively, Cas pulled Dean behind him and readied his sword, fully prepared to face the challenge ahead. To lay down his life if need be. The way he always did.

Here, hope was all they had. Hope and each other.  



End file.
